I am divine
Full of love
For you
And for myself
I am humble
Not better than
Or less than you
Let us grant
Each other
Autonomy
To be
The full spectrum
Of ourselves
Mirroring
And magnifying
Each other
Into unfathomable
Beyonds
I am divine Full of love For you And for myself I am humble Not better than Or less than you Let us grant Each other Autonomy To be The full spectrum Of ourselves Mirroring And magnifying Each other Into unfathomable Beyonds
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When wearing a wide-brimmed sun, hat, and polarized glasses, beware of obstacles at an outdoor rockery. Treat every part of the body with reverence and respect. Though it is hurting, it serves a valuable function for the journey. Let healing time replace clock time. Moving any faster will delay the healing process. Comparing your body to others is like comparing the wood of an oak to a cedar tree. They serve different purposes. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, even broken bones don’t break you. It is your unwillingness to tenderize the wound with patience, self-compassion, gratitude and trust that breaks you. What does it mean to be wedded to your own heart, circumambulating around a maple tree, the sacred fire of longing lit from within? 27 years ago you followed him around a holy fire, believing you had finally found the missing part of yourself. For years you deferred to his standard, his intelligence, his strength, doubting your own poetic intuition in favor of mainstream masculinity. Slow down and listen for what the sacred masculine has to teach you. The second marriage is a private affair. What if the unintelligible language of the wind is a poem spoken just for you? Would you whisper it to the next being you meet with the same devotion? The birds trill with merriment and mystery of a morning that welcomes you into the womb of the forest. Here, you are a walking tree rooted in an underground network of connection and belonging. Trust your heart’s superpowers, inhabiting the temple of your body with joy and compassion. Emerging from the forest, delivered by newborn hope, you belong to all beings. Just like you, they all want to be happy, safe, and free. Photo by Akido Ikeda I would be a stepping stone to a path with an unknown destination, but filled with adventure. I would be a fine mist settling over a mirror before the reflection is revealed. I would be the dawn transitioning darkness into light. I would be a blank page waiting for an incredible story to be written or a drawing to emerge. I would be the silence before meaningful music was composed and then sung or played. I would be a creative womb, nurturing ideas without aborting any one of them prematurely. There is only one interior design that is you. Don’t let anyone decorate your inner life without your explicit permission. How would they know if you want a firm or soft couch, the space between each piece of furniture, what type of knickknacks you’d place on the end tables? Let the wall art reflect what you care about most. Even if they are not direct windows into your soul, they could be snapshots to deeper desires yet to be recognized. Whether the space is cluttered, bare, or something in between, make room for yourself to be, to breathe, to fill the unique design of your inner sanctuary. Only then will the rest of the landscape make sense. I’m fascinated by the intersection of emptiness and metta. This month I received a birthday gift that I did not want - a flare up of chronic SI joint and gluteal muscle pain. Still there was significant appreciation for emptiness teachings. I wasn’t a victim of a single cause or condition. Nor was I an expert on perfect management in extinguishing the burning sensations of pain. Perceptions of pain were determined by my relationship to it. When it took center stage, the attention shrunk, and there wasn’t much space for anything else. Seeing and sensing through the eyes of the Brahmaviharas, the areas of pain transformed into an island of discomfort in a sea of healing modalities and support. The attention stretched to include ice, Advil, supportive family members, joy for my partner getting back in shape, a compassionate physical therapist, concerned patients expressing empathy, an image in supine meditation posture of the heart space pumping a champagne like bubbly substance to the rest of the body that softened, soothed, and allowed experience to be as it was, even held in celebration. What if time is empty - past, present future - all empty of a single cause or condition that made me? What if this pain is not mine, and belongs to a divine intelligence? The universal song is composed of both high and low notes. When dukkha arises, may I remember that others experience this, too. When sukkha arises, may others experience this, too. “When self, time, separation, and even suffering are seen as empty, a devotion to the endless commitment of love is felt without burden.” (Seeing that Frees, Pg 327) As I sit in meditation, there is eagerness to interpret the dream, to make meaning of it.
SMD whispers, “Not yet my love. Stay close to yourself. Do you have your energy body? Emotional body?” Trusting this voice, I become meek, cultivating patience and reverence for the process by systematically sensing earth, space, the flow of metta, fire for image. The dream is strange. I see many fish enclosed in a large space by a fence or cage. At first they are all still, but then they are flapping around. One by one they pop out of the cage and become young children dancing a melancholy dance. “May I be free,” one child sings. I feel the child within inspired to voice her own desires. “May I be seen and heard.” “May I love and be loved.” I think of all the undocumented immigrants, the students protesting in the US who are being deported. The heart center becomes a gray, swirling storm, aching for the light of the Brahmaviharas to shine through. ***** Hiking in the rain, I imagine the rain as Kwan Yin’s tears. The pitter-pattering sound against my raincoat becomes the sound of thousands of hearts beating fervently in prayer. “May there be more sanctuaries of love than sanctuaries of hate.” ***** “And what would that give you?” the voice asks. Is it the voice of SMD, Kwan Yin, Mother Earth? Does it matter? Then I would trust in a universal benevolence, more powerful than greed, hatred, and delusion. I would trust citta as a meaningful extension of it. ***** Down by the lake, its surface generously receives the raindrops, the tears, the prayers, swallows them whole into its murky beyonds. The eye of a weak sun peaks through the gray above. Someone is watching, eternally watching. And my bones know, there is more than this. Don’t lose yourself. Don’t assume you know what I need either. Create what you need out of this image for healing, and discover that I am more than your limiting ideas of what others need. All being suffer, have this volcanic eruption of dukkha from within- undigested material that attacks only in darkness when one is most vulnerable. What is the remedy, the tincture of trust that will cure? Grant me autonomy and I will show you… ***** There is humility in this image, the image that I thought was me and is now more than mine. “The Medicine” for my suffering changes moment to moment, day to day. “The Medicine” for the suffering of others also changes moment to moment, day to day. What a gift to be able to stay close to myself, to fill out and resonate with the energetic and emotional body, to cultivate space and ease in this vihara, to impact space and ease in others. ***** Benevolent breath Fill me with purpose Receive my inadequacy As a distant memory You are the baseline beat To every song I sing My entry into this world My exit off this stage Stay with me Remain with me Watch and pray That I fill this body Completely To honor you To know myself To sense the song in others And begin the improvised duet Heart Nebula by G. Parker The image begins as a dream, one where the main character feels embarrassed at her vulnerabilities being exposed. She is also claustrophobic, overwhelmed by the number of people occupying her personal space. Who are they, and how can she escape? Is the dream mine, or does it belong to someone else? My mother-in-law is stuck in a nursing facility in India, wanting nothing more than to return to her home and live out her last days with space and ease. Space and ease. Something about these words carry a significant resonance, like bells at the end of a religious ceremony when the priest is chanting an ancient Sanskrit prayer. The words are not only invoked in present time, but from the accumulated karma of past lives, the possibility of seeing and sensing with more sacredness in the future. Carrying the dream and it’s multiple interpretations like a warm shawl to morning meditating, I allow space and ease to fill the body with meaningful intention. The mind is eager to apply teachings of Soulmaking and emptiness to the experience, to think its way to a profound insight as a candle of sandalwood and jasmine is lit to invoke a meditative trance. But the bodies memories are ancient, slowing the mind down to feel the elements that have shaped it – rivers carving canyons, heat and wind molding earth, the stardust of all life being exchanged through cycles of respiration, porous skin, a beating heart influenced by the rhythms around it. Humbled, the mind yields to its wise ancestor, the body, and waits. Space and ease. The energetic body begins to relax. The emotional body becomes a sanctuary – a temple, a church, a synagogue, a mosque, open natural space to receive the vulnerabilities of others and mirror back their beauty, strength, and resilience. The heart becomes a doorway to boundless compassion, not only for a body sitting here, but for a mother-in-law in India, a partner there trying to honor his mother’s last wishes, patients recently encountered who felt complex because of ‘extra’ needs, a politician who appears narcissistic and aggressive, and so many other countless beings I have overlooked from contraction and dis-ease. May this artful insight, empty of a single person, place, practice, or state of citta, filled with love from multiple beings, places, practices, and states of citta, be for the benefit of all. |
AuthorKaveri Patel, a woman who is always searching for the wisdom in waves. Categories
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